Reacquainting
by ishfizz
Summary: A non-existant scene set sometime between Harry telling Ron and Hermione what happened in the Forbidden Forest DH and when Harry goes up to Gryffindor tower, thinking about sandwiches - Hermione sees some changes and consequences of the previous year, and Harry uses the girls toilet. That sounds rather wrong like that, doesn't it?


_Disclaimer: Not mine. Not if it's accurate to the Harry Potter books –_

_Which, I should probably mention – it's not. The trio spends nearly a month at Shell cottage in the books – and the scenario here implies a much shorter – and less reviatalizing stay._

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Harry and I stood a little ways off from the Weasleys. After leaving the headmasters office, we had followed Ron down to the Great Hall – back to his family. It didn't feel right to intrude, nor to leave, but we'd been standing there - just watching - for quite some time. Molly sobbed intermittently into Arthur's collar, George sat numbly, the rest crying or talking or leaning on another.

I felt, rather than saw, Harry turn and walk away, though no one else seemed to notice. The great uproar to touch the Boy-Who-Lived had faded as people turned back to their own loved ones, dead or alive. I saw Ron, elbows on knees and his forehead pressed into the heels of his hand. Ginny, staring into space, rested a hand on his leg.

I could do nothing for them.

So, looking over my shoulder I saw Harry exiting the Great Hall, and followed after him.

I couldn't tell where he was going, and I don't think he knew either. Perhaps he was just taking in being in Hogwarts – or, rather, what was left of Hogwarts – again. We hadn't exactly taken time to reacquaint ourselves upon arrival, and only seen part of it as we went to the Headmaster's office. I caught up to him and he gave me a sidelong glance, but kept walking.

After several minutes of nothing but the occasional conversation of portraits as we passed, Harry stopped, and squinted at a door.

"This is a loo, right?"

The door was unmarked, but I recognized the painting to its left and nodded, "a girl's loo."

"I'm not sure it really matters right now," he said dryly, and I shook my head, feeling a blush creep up my face for being such a prude. "Besides," he said, pulling the door handle, "I only want to wash up a bit."

It took a moment to realize that he was holding the door open for me, and I looked down briefly, taking stock of myself for what seemed like the first in a very long time. Dirt had encrusted itself beneath my fingernails, and mud discolored patches of my skin – around and over the many scrapes and cuts. Some of the blood had dried, but a few of the cuts still oozed slowly. I knew enough basic healing to take care of most of them, but a few – the cursed ones, would require knowledge beyond mine, and a more experienced hand.

But for now, I could at least clean up.

I walked in before him and up to a sink. The eyes of the girl in the mirror widened. I felt my face, and she did too – was it really so angular, so hollow? I gingerly touched the dark purple beneath my eyes that didn't belong to dirt or injury – but exhaustion…months and months of endless exhaustion – taking sleeping in two or three shifts that only lasted three hours apiece. I turned to Harry, my hand still to my face.

He was a few sinks away…he looked even worse.

"How -" my voice cracked.

He opened his mouth, but then just shook his head, turning away.

I shook my head. "This doesn't happen in one day… how didn't I see it?"

Harry sighed and walked slowly towards me. He gestured for my hand, and I extended it. Gingerly, he rolled up my sleeve to the elbow, and encircled my wrist with his thumb and index finger, which he slid down my arm, making no adjustment for circumference.

My other hand flew up to try to stop a gasp, but it was to late, and when my gaze met Harry's, he looked sad. So, so sad. "I saw," he said. He dropped my arm and returned to his sink. I shook my head, turned back towards my own and adjusted the knob for hot water.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

To my left, Harry was bent over, supported by his arms, staring down at the porcelain drain.

"Let's just clean up," I said shakily. Several silent minutes followed where we cleaned and healed our more minor scrapes. I heard the rustling of fabric and turned to see Harry removing his shirt. I felt my face pale at the sight of protruding ribs, casting sharp shadows onto his pale, bruised skin. My hands went to my own hem, and I lifted my shirt to find myself in the same condition. I'd never seen my own ribs through my skin – not before we left to find the horcruxes.

A surge of hatred coursed through me and I felt my skin burn. I was eighteen. Just eighteen. This wasn't…_normal._ It wasn't _right._ I pulled my shirt off the rest of the way and stared into the mirror, glaring at the reflection of the hungry girl.

As my gaze traveled over the protrusions and indentations around my bones, my hands began to shake. My neck felt scorched and every remaining injury felt fresh as though white hot knives were tracing the remains.

I thought back to the girl who had lived at Hogwarts a year ago and flinched. She was gone. I blinked hard and clenched my fists, willing myself not to cry. But when I opened my eyes, the girl in the mirror was still…still hungry. Still scarred and battered. Still guilty of impersonation, theft, of breaking and entering. Still an eighteen year old who had fought and killed – who had aimed her wand at another human being with the intent to harm, and had done it.

_Godric…_

I turned to Harry, eyes brimming, biting my lip hard. His form became blurrier and blurrier, until he was just a shape walking slowly towards me. I blinked, and pushed the tears from my vision.

His hand reached out, two fingers just touching the angular line of my hips. The corner of his mouth tugged down for a moment, before he shook his head, withdrawing his hand.

I looked at him more closely and ran a finger along the groove between two of his ribs.

"_why_?" I choked out. "Why you? why _us_?" I stared at my hand against his ribs, as tears escaped with every blink. "We're just _kids_, Harry…" my hand clenched into a fist, and if his own body wasn't so frail, I probably would have pounded it against him. But I took a deep breath, flexing my fingers out again as my tears dripped from my chin, down my neck.

His hand closed over mine, "I don't know why, Hermione." He slid it up to the left side of his chest, and his heart beat steadily and warm beneath my hand. I choked out a sort of sob. "But," he put his hand over my heart, waiting a few moments, a soft smile spreading over his face, "We're still here."

I nodded, my anger ebbing away. Harry's hand slid up, over my collarbone and behind my head, pulling me gently towards him. His lips pressed against my forehead, and between us he squeezed my hand.

I could have broken down, just then. I could have let all the fragile seams I'd been willing to hold me together fall apart and the pieces would probably disintegrate. But Harry's heart beat was strong, and his breath was even in my hair.

And there would be nights to talk, and time to let myself fall apart in private, but right now, Harry seemed at peace.

And he deserved to keep it. So I'd borrow some, and be content, knowing that Harry was finally safe.

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_a/n: So…it's been a while :) Have some angst! _

_Rubbishy angst, but angst none the less. I've been going through my unfinished stories again. My Kettles & Scars sequel isn't quite as terrible as I originally thought - even salvageable, and hopefully I can keep chipping away at that._

_Love you all! Sorry this isn't my usual, but this is the part where I hold up my creative license like some sort of important badge and claim my right to do whatever I want. You can probably tell I'm massively rusty on the writing front, but... *holds up badge*...yeah._


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